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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527730">returning nightmares, only shadows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/celosiaa/pseuds/celosiaa'>celosiaa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>steady, love + appendices [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crying, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pneumonia, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sick Character, Sickfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:00:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/celosiaa/pseuds/celosiaa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Martin’s confused, he’s <em>so</em> confused, and Jon knows it—<em>Knows </em>it even, as he realizes with an unpleasant start that the Eye is drinking in all this fear and pain with absolute pleasure."</p>
<p>Martin’s got a high fever, and Jon is there to comfort him through it.</p>
<p>(missing scene from "steady, love," but can stand alone)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>steady, love + appendices [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>162</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>returning nightmares, only shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi again everyone!  back again with another missing scene, requested by a very sweet commenter.  this scene takes place between chapters 5 and 6 of "steady, love," but you don't necessarily need to read that one first in order to understand this one.  you'll probably enjoy that fic too if you've clicked on this, though!!</p>
<p>QUICK BACKGROUND SUMMARY (bit spoilery for "steady, love"): Martin is very ill, and has gone down rather quickly due to the Lonely's remaining influence over him.  he's been breathing/coughing out fog over the past few days, expelling the Lonely from his lungs.  Jon is Hungry for statements.</p>
<p>AMAZING ARTWORK done by @deep-sea-thunderstorm on tumblr!! Go check them out here: https://deep-sea-thunderstorm.tumblr.com/</p>
<p>(Jon's thoughts are formatted in italics.  The EYE speaks in glitched text.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steam nearly chokes Jon as he steps from the bathroom, having run the water on the maximum temperature for most of his shower.  At this point, he’s willing to try anything to distract himself from the gnawing hunger that’s settled deep in his gut, leaving his body chilled down to the bone after a walk in the blustery Highland day.  He has to admit—the warmth of the water spilling over his aching shoulders felt like a blessed embrace; like some holy sign that he needs to <em>heal</em>, that they both need to heal.</p>
<p>
  <em>If only I could get Martin down to the shower.</em>
</p>
<p>Martin still sleeps up in the loft, with no noise other than the occasional coughing fit or bout of snoring to interrupt the hollow silence of the main floor.  To pass the time, Jon has been reading some inane fiction book from Daisy’s shelf, all the while eyeing Martin’s notebook sitting open on the kitchen table.  The Eye constantly itches at the back of his mind, tempting him into <em>Knowing</em> the contents so incessantly that he’s had to slam the book shut and place it out of sight.  Better for Martin to show him than for him to read it without his knowledge.</p>
<p><em>I hope he will show me</em>, Jon thinks as he curls back up on the sofa with his book.  He gets whisked away for a while by the loveliest thought—the two of them tangled together in their bed, Martin reading him the verses that spilled forth onto the page from his own mind, petting Jon’s hair as he plants soft kisses up and down Martin’s muscular arms—</p>
<p>
  <em>THUD.</em>
</p>
<p>Jon is up and standing as soon as the noise hits, book flying across the room.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh god oh god oh god</em>
</p>
<p>“MARTIN?!” he yells, bounding up the stairs two at a time, stomach clenching as he imagines him on the ground, covered in blood—</p>
<p>He flings open the door to find him merely half-sitting up on the floor, in the midst of a coughing fit—planted in place where he had apparently fallen out of bed.  The tension leaves Jon’s body in a rush so powerful that his knees go weak.</p>
<p>“<em>Christ, </em>Martin,” he breathes, bracing himself against the doorframe and laying a hand to rest over his own heaving chest.</p>
<p>At the sound of his voice, Martin sits up straighter, back supported by the bedframe, and forcibly halts his coughs—the only remaining indication the constant fluttering of his chest.  Long strands of his mussed fringe fall into his eyes as he ducks his head, muttering something under his breath that Jon can’t quite make out.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Jon asks nervously, having recovered from the shock at last and approaching him tentatively.</p>
<p>Martin does not reply to this, merely continuing his muttering.  Leaning closer, Jon can just barely make out the words:</p>
<p>“M’sorry mum, m’so sorry I woke you, I didn’t mean—”</p>
<p>Jon’s stomach flips over once again.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh god.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>How high is his fever?</em>
</p>
<p>Brow furrowing, Jon kneels slowly in front of him, trying to catch his eyes.</p>
<p>“Martin, listen.  It’s me, it’s Jon.  It’s Jon,” he repeats, patting at his arm gently to gain his attention.</p>
<p>Hearing his voice again, Martin looks up—fever-glassed eyes meeting his own, unhealthy flush coloring his cheeks, sheen of sweat over his entire being as he stares at Jon in confusion. </p>
<p>“It’s only me, darling,” he says softly, rubbing a hand up and down Martin’s forearm.</p>
<p>At last, something about this seems to get through to him, as he shakes his head like a dog that’s just been swimming.</p>
<p>“God, sorry,” he mutters before choking off into the remainder of his stifled fit, lips closed around the awful congestion rising to the surface.</p>
<p>The audible weakness in his chest sends the first warning bells ringing through Jon’s mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t think this is a cold anymore.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe it never was.</em>
</p>
<p>“What happened?” he asks as the fit comes to a close.</p>
<p>Martin does not reply, staring instead into the middle distance.</p>
<p>
  <em>This is <strong>not </strong>good.</em>
</p>
<p>Furrowing his brow in concern, Jon slides a bit closer to him in order to rest a hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“<em>Hey.</em>  Are you with me?  What happened?”</p>
<p>“Mum…needed to help her,” he replies at last, breaths still coming in pants.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, <strong>Christ.</strong></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Okay, stay calm.  You need to stay calm.</em>
</p>
<p>“Right.  Erm…did you—did you hit your head?” Jon stammers, fighting to keep his voice low and soothing.</p>
<p>“Dunno.”</p>
<p>“That’s not…comforting,” Jon murmurs as he begins to search through Martin’s curls for any sign of bleeding or bruising, but ultimately finding nothing.</p>
<p>When he pulls away, Martin gives a little whining noise of displeasure, having closed his eyes against the soothing feeling of Jon’s hands in his hair.</p>
<p>“Okay, let’s get you back in bed then, alright?  Come on—” he encourages gently, pulling at Martin’s upper arm in an attempt to drag him at least to half-standing.</p>
<p>With significant difficulty, Martin manages to follow his lead, collapsing backwards onto the bed as soon as he’s up.  Anxiety spikes in Jon’s chest again at the renewed pallor of his face, at the heaving breaths with wet crackling behind them, and at the fact that he has to swing Martin’s shaking legs up onto the bed for him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Stay calm, stay calm, it’s just the fever.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s just confused.</em>
</p>
<p>Bending over him for a moment, Jon pulls the light blankets back over him and reaches behind his head to fuss at the mountain of pillows on which he’s meant to be propped up.  As soon as he does so, Martin’s shoulders begin to shake violently.</p>
<p>“I’m <em>sorry</em>,” he says in a hoarse sob as tears begin to flow in rivulets down his cheeks.</p>
<p>The sight of it breaks Jon’s heart.</p>
<p>At once, he lowers himself to sitting on the side of the bed, taking Martin’s hand from where it has reached up to rub at the raw inflammation of his nose.</p>
<p>“For what, darling?”</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Martin does not reply, instead squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his brow, straining to understand anything that’s happening around him.  He’s confused, he’s <em>so</em> confused, and Jon knows it—<em>Knows </em>it even, as he realizes with an unpleasant start that the Eye is drinking in all this fear and pain with absolute pleasure.</p>
<p>
  <em>STOP IT.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s not yours to Know.</em>
</p>
<p>Trying to focus on what’s in front of him—that is, Martin desperately needing his attention—he reaches toward the nightstand to pluck a tissue from it, swiping it as gently as possible beneath Martin’s sore nostrils.  Something about this motion must stir some awareness back into him, for as soon as Jon finishes, the coughing resumes—his lips still closed around the horrible damp echo of it as it pulses through his lungs.  It’s obvious to Jon that he’s focusing his efforts on holding it back, on keeping it soft and just bubbling under the surface.</p>
<p>“You sound dreadful, Martin. Why don’t you just let it out?” he asks softly, running a hand up and down his forearm.</p>
<p>“Sorry, sorry, m’so sorry—” he mutters in response, his breaths coming in shortened gasps.</p>
<p>Jon grips his hand even tighter.</p>
<p>“Why?  Sweetheart, please tell me why.”</p>
<p>At the gentleness, another sob tears its way out, nearly choking him as he begins to apologize at full volume.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, mum, it’s so loud, it’s so loud, I’m sorry—”</p>
<p>“<em>Martin—</em>”</p>
<p>A bit panicked now, Jon places his hands on either side of Martin’s scorching face.</p>
<p><em>3</em><em>͓͛</em><em>9</em><em>̓̔</em><em>.</em><em>͓̰</em><em>5</em><em>̘</em>, the Eye tells him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Jesus.</em>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I woke you—”</p>
<p>“Martin, listen to me.  It’s <em>Jon</em>.  Your mum…” he trails off for a moment, measuring his words.  “…your mum isn’t here, darling, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>All he receives in reply is a watery stare, blinking at him uncomprehendingly.</p>
<p>“It’s just me, it’s Jon.”</p>
<p>At last, something about his tone manages to break through his fever-addled mind, and he closes his eyes—hand traveling up to pinch at the bridge of his nose and exhaling wetly.</p>
<p>“God, Jon.  I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Frustration at the repeated apology blossoms in Jon’s chest, but he shoves it down with all the force of a hurricane.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” he asks in as soft as voice as he can manage.</p>
<p>“I just need—” he’s choked off by another cough, which he stifles vigorously behind his lips.</p>
<p>“What do you need?”</p>
<p>“The cough suppressants,” he whispers, pressing a hand into his lower ribs to rub at them painfully, breathing still unnaturally quick.</p>
<p>Jon’s heart sinks into his stomach.</p>
<p>“You <em>need </em>to cough, Martin; you <em>need </em>to get it out,” he replies in a tone that leaves no room for argument.</p>
<p>Martin is fully panting now, ragged and burbling.</p>
<p>“It’s too loud, it’s too loud, you shouldn’t have to—”</p>
<p>“Stop, stop.”</p>
<p>Jon takes his hands into both of his own, pulling them down from where he had been wringing them in distress.</p>
<p>“Listen to me,” he demands, meeting his eyes with as much intensity as he can pour into them.</p>
<p>“It’s loud, and it’s <em>alright</em>.  It’s loud, and it’s alright—I promise, darling.  Please…let yourself get well.”</p>
<p>At his plea, Martin’ eyes immediately well up again—chest still fluttering with effort before he squeezes Jon’s hand back. </p>
<p>Jon can’t help the small smile that spreads across his face.</p>
<p>Martin then takes a deeper inhale than any in the last ten minutes, shuddering and strenuous, and allows the force of the coughs bursting from his chest to pitch him forward—bracing over his pajama-clad thighs.  Rolling out over the blankets, spilling between the creaking floorboards is that same thick fog—the Lonely pouring from him in billows.  All Jon can do is listen to the agonized churning, rubbing at his back in what he hopes is a comforting motion as he tries desperately to make a path for oxygen to flood his lungs.  Nearly a minute goes by before it stops, Martin folding weakly back against the pillows in its wake, panting.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Jon asks again, not liking the color of his cheeks.</p>
<p>“M’sorry, Jon I—” he breaks off to inhale.  “I can’t seem to—heh—”</p>
<p>He rubs painfully at his nose and sinuses for a moment before continuing.</p>
<p>“—my head’s not right, I don’t know why.”</p>
<p>“It’s the fever, sweetheart.  You’re alright.”</p>
<p>
  <em>I hope you’re alright.</em>
</p>
<p>“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asks, patting his knee where it lies beneath the blankets.</p>
<p>Distinctly not looking at him, Martin pauses for a moment, considering.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” he whispers at last, guilt flooding his face.</p>
<p>Jon quirks up a smile in comfort.</p>
<p>“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”</p>
<p>Seeing the lightness of his expression causes Martin to mirror it, lips turning up gently at the corners despite the weepiness of his eyes.  He brushes his lips against the back of Jon’s hand, over the burn scar and down, turning his palm gently to kiss the sensitive skin over his pulse point.  It’s enough to send sparks of lightning through Jon’s body, and he immediately feels the heat rushing into his cheeks.</p>
<p>“You’re too good for me,” Martin murmurs, eyes drooping closed as he drops Jon’s wrist.</p>
<p>Shaking his head with a smile, Jon steps out of the room to collect his book, fully intending to spend the remainder of his evening curled up by Martin’s side.</p>
<p><em>I must be the luckiest person in the world, </em>he thinks, the love buzzing through his head forcing the static of hunger far, far away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks so much for reading!  if you have a missing scene that you'd like to see, or just prompts in general, feel free to let me know in a comment here or send me a message on my tumblr (@celosiaa).  hope you all enjoyed!  have a wonderful day! &lt;3</p>
<p>(AMAZING ARTWORK done by @deep-sea-thunderstorm on tumblr!! Go check them out here: https://deep-sea-thunderstorm.tumblr.com/)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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